


you're so golden

by thelittlebirdthattoldyou



Series: spiker-setter week 2020 [6]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Airports, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Argentina, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Oikawa Tooru, Pro Volleyball Player Oikawa Tooru, i went hard with the hollywood cliches here and i don't regret it at all, it's about half and half
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:34:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26410459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelittlebirdthattoldyou/pseuds/thelittlebirdthattoldyou
Summary: They were quiet through the rest of breakfast, and they were quiet as Oikawa helped Iwaizumi lug his bag to the car and as they drove to the airport. Oikawa hated the way Iwaizumi was looking at him: frustrated and disappointed and resigned all at once.Aren’t you tired, Iwa-chan?Oikawa wondered.How could I ask you for more when you’ve already given me everything?Where Oikawa realizes that late is better than never.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Series: spiker-setter week 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1912567
Comments: 10
Kudos: 192
Collections: Haikyuu: Spiker-Setter Week





	you're so golden

**Author's Note:**

> spiker-setter week day 6: ~~surprises~~ | **stay**
> 
> title: “golden” by harry styles. again a very fitting theme song for the story if u want something to listen along to.
> 
> au where oiks is in argentina but iwa still lives in japan

There was a moment, that evening at dinner, when they almost kissed.

It was Iwaizumi’s last full day in Argentina, so Oikawa took him out for parrillada at his favorite beachside restaurant. The space was more packed than usual—they were in the middle of summer, after all, and tourists abounded—but they managed to snag a spot outside on the balcony, overlooking the ocean.

They gorged themselves on more meat than they’d ever seen in one place, talked and laughed over nothing, lingered over mate and crumbly medialunas. As if neither of them wanted to be the first to suggest that they leave.

And maybe it was the way the setting sunbeams hit Iwaizumi just right, how they highlighted his hair and the brightness of his eyes. Maybe it was the rich, fruity Mendoza wine they’d kept pouring glasses of all night. Maybe it was just Oikawa, helpless and hopeless in love, heart about to break at the thought of having to say goodbye.

But there was a moment when Iwaizumi looked so beautiful that the conversation died on Oikawa’s lips. All he could do was stare at the amused curve of Iwaizumi’s mouth, his eyelashes, and the smooth skin, left exposed by his thin cotton tank top, that had gotten even tanner over the duration of the visit.

“Shittykawa? Are you even listening to me?” Iwaizumi asked.

Oikawa hadn’t known what to say. He wasn’t listening to Iwaizumi’s words so much as he was breathing in the entirety of his being; he was drinking Iwaizumi’s presence in like an addict deprived of his fix for too long.

He’d leaned forward, the movement of his body as unconscious as gravity, leaned out of his seat over the table to shorten the distance between them. He watched Iwaizumi’s teasing smirk disappear as he realized what was happening, watched the breath catch in Iwaizumi’s throat. There were inches, centimeters between their faces.

Then the realization of what he was doing broke over him like ice-cold seawater. Oikawa pulled away with a startled cough. He hadn’t been able to meet Iwaizumi’s eyes for the rest of the meal, and the disappointment rolling off the other man was palpable.

And now, hours later in the stillness of his dark apartment, Oikawa watched the rise and fall of Iwaizumi’s chest under the soft moonlight and cursed himself a thousand times over. Sometime during the month-long stay, Iwaizumi had migrated from the guest bedroom to Oikawa’s room, occupying a spare futon that he had lying around. At the time, Oikawa was grateful for the proximity. But weeks later and their time together is running out, and the three foot gap between them seems as insurmountable as an ocean.

It wasn’t as though Oikawa didn’t know he was in love with Iwaizumi. He was all too aware of that fact, and he was all too aware that Iwaizumi loved him as well. It’s just—well, the Pacific is deep and wide, and long distance is hard. Oikawa knew he was a selfish man, especially where Iwaizumi was concerned, but he recognized that this—asking Iwaizumi to uproot his entire life in Japan and move halfway across the globe for a relationship that couldn’t be guaranteed—was more than even he could expect.

So he stayed silent and contented himself with stolen glances at Iwaizumi’s sleeping form, and he didn’t reach out to trail his fingers over Iwaizumi’s cheek or kiss his eyelids no matter how much he ached to.

And even when he finally tore his eyes away and rolled over, squeezing them shut, he found that he couldn’t fall asleep until the sun was almost up.

Iwaizumi picked up on it the next morning, of course, because he was and had always been a walking, talking Oikawa Tooru lie detector.

“You look like shit.”

Oikawa glanced up from the stove with a huff. He ignored the way his heart pounded at the sight of Iwaizumi, dressed in nothing but a pair of sweatpants, leaning casually against his kitchen entryway. “Thank you, Iwa-chan. This is exactly how I wanted to start our last morning together.”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes, walking over to join Oikawa in the kitchen. The space was modern, neat lines and minimalistic marble, and all of it was rarely used. Oikawa cooked once in a while, when he was missing home or feeling inspired, but for the most part he saw little use in it when there was so much cheap street food available just down the street. He wasn’t as much of a disaster in the kitchen as he used to be—living alone, he’d been forced to pick up on a few things—but he didn’t particularly enjoy it.

Still, Oikawa couldn’t deny that there was something lovely about this: the two of them, side by side at the counter, dicing scallions and frying eggs for a shared breakfast.

Neither spoke. Oikawa had too much on his mind, what with Iwaizumi’s impending departure looming ahead of them. His flight was scheduled for eleven in the morning, and Oikawa dreaded every passing second that brought them closer to the hour.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi said, nudging Oikawa’s foot under the table. “I’m gonna miss you, y’know?”

Oikawa took another bite of his omelet to avoid saying anything too rash.

He swallowed. “Are you getting sappy on me already? We’re not even at the airport yet.”

For once, Iwaizumi refused to rise to the bait. “The past few weeks—well, I had fun. It was nice. Spending time with you.”

“Of course it was. I’m a delight to be around.”

Iwaizumi laughed. It sounded sad. “I wouldn’t say that. But I always like being around you anyway.”

Oikawa bit his lip and looked away. It looked like Iwaizumi wasn’t going to let him deflect with any of his normal flippancy. “Okay. Thanks, Iwa-chan. You’re—I’m going to miss you, too.”

When he next glanced up, Iwaizumi’s eyes were expectant. Oikawa knew what he was expecting, but—that would be unfair, wouldn’t it? To say it now, on their last day together, when their plans were already set and there was no hope of changing them.

A few minutes passed. Iwaizumi went back to his meal, and the silence between them, usually comfortable, turned strained.

Part of Oikawa thought it was cruel. Things never used to be awkward between him and Iwaizumi; the awkwardness had only begun recently, surfacing every time the subject of more-than-friendship was brought up. Having these feelings and knowing they were returned and still being too paralyzed to act on them—wasn’t that too mean of the universe? Of fate? Wouldn’t it have been kinder to let them both remain satisfied with what they already had?

They were quiet through the rest of breakfast, and they were quiet as Oikawa helped Iwaizumi lug his bag to the car and as they drove to the airport. Oikawa hated the way Iwaizumi was looking at him: frustrated and disappointed and resigned all at once.

_Aren’t you tired, Iwa-chan?_ Oikawa wondered. _How could I ask you for more when you’ve already given me everything?_

Iwaizumi had always been too patient with him.

Oikawa picked a parking spot farther away from the airport entrance, as if by lengthening the walk to the building they could somehow delay the inevitable. He got out of the car and grabbed Iwaizumi’s luggage out of the trunk.

“I can take this for you,” he said. “So you stop complaining about how I always make you do all the work.”

Iwaizumi rolled his eyes. “The only one here who complains all the time is you, dumbass”

Oikawa pouted but barrelled on anyway. “You’ll text me when you’re boarding, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And call when you land?”

“Yeah.”

“And we’ll still FaceTime this weekend?” Oikawa felt a little ridiculous, like some kind of helicopter parent, but he couldn’t help it. As they neared the main building, the panic in his chest tightened and threatened to spill over.

“ _Yes,_ Oikawa. We will. Nothing’s going to change between us, okay? Because you won’t _let_ it.”

He stalked off, and Oikawa froze at the harshness in his voice.

Then he quickened his pace to catch up. That was the closest they’d ever come to confronting the _thing_ between them. Until now they’d lived in implication and innuendo, neutral ground that was safe enough to tread without getting burned. Oikawa wasn’t sure what to make of this now.

They passed through a pair of sliding doors and were hit with a cool blast of AC. The airport was like all airports: stark white and modern, with a vaulted, tiled ceiling. Iwaizumi grabbed the suitcase out of Oikawa’s hands and excused himself to check his bags. Oikawa watched him go. He bit at his nails—an old nervous habit that reasserted itself whenever he happened to be feeling especially anxious.

Iwaizumi was going to fly from San Juan to Buenos Aires, and then to Tokyo. Oikawa was going to accompany him up to security, at which point he could no longer pass without a ticket, and then—and then what? Smile and nod as an ocean wedged its way in between them again? Settle for weekly FaceTime sessions where they were always tired because of the time difference? Wait until one or both of them grew tired of waiting and found someone else?

“Oi. Shittykawa. You’re coming with, right?”

Oikawa glanced up, chagrined to find that Iwaizumi was already finished. Carry-on backpack in hand, he jerked his head in the direction of security, and Oikawa nodded and followed.

There were few people waiting in line, which meant that it wouldn’t be long before Iwaizumi got through and left Oikawa’s sight completely.

“Bye, Iwa-chan. Take care of yourself, okay?”

Iwaizumi offered him a half-hearted smile. “Yeah, of course. You, too, even when I’m not here to make sure you survive.”

“Rude. I can totally make it without you.” _Physically, at least._

A moment’s silence.

Iwaizumi checked his watch. “All right. I should go, so—”

“Oh, yeah, right—"

“See you, then.”

“See you.”

Iwaizumi turned and took his place in line, weaving through the maze of security rope that would guide him away from San Juan—and Oikawa—forever.

Well. Not forever—Oikawa hadn’t managed to rid himself of his flair for the melodramatic quite yet. There would be other visits in the future. But Oikawa was seized with the horrible, prickling feeling that if he didn’t do something now, he never would.

He stared at the back of Iwaizumi’s retreating figure. He thought, _Fuck, I’m so in love._

And all of a sudden the idea of leaving and driving back to his apartment alone, sitting in his kitchen alone and waiting for Iwaizumi to call, was unbearable.

Cursing, Oikawa leapt into action, hunching to duck under the rope barricades. “Iwa-chan! Wait—damnit—wait!”

Iwaizumi, who at this point was standing underneath one of the metal detectors, turned with a confused frown at the sound of his name. His eyes widened when he saw Oikawa. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Some of the security agents were gesturing at him, asking him to step out and reclaim his backpack from the x-ray machine, but he wasn’t paying attention to them.

Out of breath, maneuvering his body under the last few ropes, Oikawa ran to him.

_“Sir!”_ one of the airport security agents called out in Spanish, _“I can’t let you go any further without identification and a boarding pass.”_

_“Five minutes,”_ Oikawa shouted back. _“Five minutes, please, this is too important_ — _”_

And then he was close enough to hurl himself at Iwaizumi, so he did. Oikawa wrapped his arms around his waist, burying his face in Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “Iwa-chan,” he said, the words muffled, “I’m so fucking late.”

The metal detector started beeping, and both of them winced at the harsh noise. Oikawa realized belatedly that his keys were still in his pocket. Oh, well.

“You’re insane,” Iwaizumi said, but there was a smile in his voice.

“Insanely in love with you,” Oikawa said. “And it’s gonna kill me if I let you go now, so—stay here? With me?”

Iwaizumi pulled away, holding Oikawa by the shoulders and shaking him a little. His expression was a little hopeful, a little awed. “God, Oikawa, you’re—you can’t just—”

“Don’t go,” Oikawa repeated, breathless. “I love you.”

“I—” Iwaizumi sighed. “I love you, too, idiot.”

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

“Good. That’s—so that means you’ll stay, right? Be with me?”

“Are you kidding?” Iwaizumi snorted. “You know how expensive these tickets were?”

Oikawa frowned at him. “ _Hajime,”_ he whined.

Iwaizumi laughed, pulled him down into a gentle kiss. His lips were warm and pulled up at the corners. He tasted like sea salt. Oikawa did his best to memorize the feeling. Then he realized that Iwaizumi was _his_ now, that they could kiss whenever they liked, and he didn’t have to memorize anything.

_BEEP. BEEP. BEEP._

After several seconds, Iwaizumi broke away first. “I’ll stay, Oikawa. Because this is new and we have a lot of shit to figure out. I want to be with you, but I have to go back sometime, and—it’s going to be hard, you know?”

“I know. But I was thinking, and I decided nothing would be harder than not having you. So.”

Iwaizumi groaned and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were bright. “Fuck, Oikawa, you’re so—the things you say. I love you so goddamn much.”

_Beeeeeep._

Both of them ignored the sound. Oikawa beamed and kissed him again.

One day, when afternoon practice ended early, Oikawa had gone to the beach and accidentally fallen asleep on the sand. When he awoke, it was like being melted by sunlight from the inside out; the sun had warmed his skin, and the heat had soaked into his bones.

This—here, with Iwaizumi, was that, but more. Oikawa wasn’t sure if there were words in Japanese or Spanish or English to describe how _much_ it all was. He glowed; he was lit up with happiness. Everything was gold.

Iwaizumi curled his tongue into Oikawa’s mouth, and Oikawa let out a happy sigh. He would be happy to burn to ashes if it meant he could have Iwaizumi’s body pressed against his forever.

The metal detector was still going off, and the beeping was grating on Oikawa’s ears. He scowled and separated himself from Iwaizumi, grabbing his hand and pulling him out from under the machine.

He turned to airport security—and the other passengers gawking at them—with a wide, smug smile. _“Thank you, gentlemen. Sorry for the interruption_ — _there’s been a misunderstanding. He’s staying with me.”_

They frowned but ushered him away without a warning.

As soon as they passed out of sight of security, Iwaizumi came to a sudden stop.

“Iwa-chan?”

“Shittykawa. I swear to god, if all my stuff gets shipped to Japan without me, I will _murder_ you.”

Oikawa giggled. Nervously. “You wouldn’t do that. Not to someone you’re in love with, right?”

Iwaizumi glared.

“Okay! Okay, I’ll get it back. Come on.”

He squeezed Iwaizumi’s hand, and they half-ran, half-speedwalked back to the baggage check.

But really, Oikawa doubted anything, lost suitcases included, could dampen his mood. The awkwardness was gone, Iwaizumi’s hand was a comforting weight in his, and they were in love.

He meant it this time around when he said it: he couldn’t ask for anything more.

**Author's Note:**

> i know the cliché airport confession scene always happens when they’re boarding, but a) i never understood how people got to that point without a ticket and b) i think it would be really funny to watch some random ass couple confess their undying love for each other in the middle of security WITH THE METAL DETECTOR GOING OFF.
> 
> i live in the us where tsa is very strict, but i’ve heard it’s not as bad in other countries? tell me if i got anything wrong here!
> 
> [my tumblr.](https://thelittlebirdthattoldyou.tumblr.com/)


End file.
